


How Say

by Rivalshipping_Archive (rivalshipping)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comfort, Cuties, Fawnlock, Fluff, Human!John, M/M, Sickfic, lightheartedness, m/m implied but nothing explicit at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivalshipping/pseuds/Rivalshipping_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's very hard for Fawnlock to communicate with John, given his limited knowledge of English. Doesn't stop him from trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Say

**Author's Note:**

> all credit for the adorable Fawnlock idea goes to Krista and Paula: fawnlock.tumblr.com
> 
> i wrote this before i read their fics so some details are different
> 
> unbeta'd
> 
> ps i dont know if you can find chameleons in the forest
> 
> enjoy

Fawnlock greatly disliked not being able to communicate effectively with John, _his_ human. He was getting better with understanding simple English phrases as weeks and months in John’s company passed, but speaking was an entirely different matter.

And how he had so much to say! He wanted to tell John everything, about the plants and animals in the forest, about the few other humans that had wandered into his and his brother’s territory, about the sun and the moon and the stars and anything else he could possibly think of, just to have John focused on him for a moment of his time. Unfortunately, the only thing that came out of his mouth when he tried to expound on these difficult subjects was a collection of meaningless sounds and the occasional known word.

John understood, though. John would always smile back at him and look enthralled; even as Fawnlock turned away in frustration, John would rub the top of his head or let him lick sugar from his fingers and Fawnlock would forget what he was upset about. It was at once annoying and comforting.

Deep brown ears perked up at the sound of footsteps not far off. They were too heavy to be an animal’s and yet too light to be a hunter. After a few seconds of listening, Fawnlock was able to pick out the slight unevenness in stride and he stood up, running in the direction of the steps. “John!” he called as he leapt over fallen branches and avoided spider-webs, his eyes bright with happiness. “John, John!”

“Fawnlock,” John replied, sounding a bit more tired than usual. The young deer practically crashed into him, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Fawnlock sniffed around John’s ears for a few seconds, then nosed his cheek affectionately. “I missed you too.”

 _Are you alright? Why do you sound so exhausted?_ Fawnlock wanted to ask. Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, his mouth didn’t cooperate, and what emerged was, “Not good, John? Not so good?”

John shook his head, stroking Fawnlock’s side a few times before shifting him so he could sit up. Upon closer inspection, John’s eyes and nose were red, and he didn’t seem to be able to concentrate on Fawnlock at all. “I don’t feel very well, ‘Lock. I’m going to head home. I’ll play with you later, okay?”

John moved away from him, pulling his thin coat tighter around himself even though it was only September and Fawnlock hadn’t even grown his winter fur. Between this oddity and the hoarseness of his voice, the deer was now thoroughly convinced that something was Terribly Wrong. “Not good?” he repeated, sounding a bit hysterical even to his own ears.

The human didn’t seem to have heard him, already trudging back to his cottage across slightly damp grass and moss. Fawnlock remained seated on the ground for a long while, thinking. The last time he had seen a human that had John’s symptoms (that, and more, as he recalled), the man was found dead by Andereleon in a muddy ditch. Fawnlock couldn’t deduce anything about his death other than he had a horrible cough, shivers, and the rest of John’s symptoms beforehand. Andereleon had stepped all over the rest of the evidence, as usual, and Fawnlock couldn’t make anything of it.

He shifted onto his knees, picking absently at a dead leaf, and noted the humid smell in the air. It was going to rain soon, and it would be bad. What if the bad weather cleared out whatever was making John Not Good, Fawnlock thought anxiously. What if it only exacerbated the symptoms?

Fawnlock pushed his leaf into the ground, covering it with dirt, and rose to his feet, taking the path that John had to back to his home. He walked a bit quicker than he would have under normal circumstances, studying the ground before him. John’s slight limp was getting worse—was it the promise of rain or whatever was making him tired? Would his injured shoulder be in pain?

Coming up to John’s door, Fawnlock didn’t want to knock, but John had already told him that today wasn’t a play day. Occasionally John would have other things to do during the day (“Not more important than you,” John assured once, scratching Fawnlock gently behind his right ear) and they would meet after dark for a bit of a cuddle or another English lesson. Since today was one of those days, either he knocked and asked permission to go in, or he waited until John sought him out.

A wracking cough from inside the cottage made his mind up for him. He opened the door without preamble, his eyes quickly searching over and dismissing the kitchen and the living room before he went down the hall and found John in his room, lying down in bed with his eyes closed.

“John!” Fawnlock shouted, instantly at the human’s side, checking his pulse and pulling his eyelids open. Something was definitely Terribly, Terribly Wrong.

“Quiet, Fawnlock,” John snapped, batting the deer’s shaking hands away. “What part of no play don’t you understand?”

Fawnlock recoiled as if he were struck but didn’t leave the room. John never snapped at him. Maybe he got a little exasperated, but always in level and calming tones. He _never_ snapped. “Not good, not good,” he murmured, his wide silvery eyes shining with tears. “My John, please, John…”

The human watched him for a moment, and then patted the side of the bed; Fawnlock kneeled beside it and took John’s hand in both of his, carefully licking his clammy fingers clean. “I’m sorry, ‘Lock. I didn’t mean to do that.” He coughed into his free hand, his already white skin going even paler. “What’s happened?”

“Not good!”

“Yes, darling, I understand that. I’m not good, no.”

“You, John!” Fawnlock pointed to him, then clenched his fists and shook them at his sides, biting at his lips in frustration. He had the words all planned out in his head: _I want you to be better. I want you to play with me and not be so tired and sad, but I don’t know how to fix it at all. I hate not knowing how to make you happy._ “Okay, John, please!” he urged, trying to make John comprehend.

John slowly nodded, his bleary eyes a bit more focused now. “I’ll be okay. Is that it? Are you worried?”

“Wor-ried. Wor-ried, John. Okay, John,” Fawnlock breathed, laying his head on the bed beside the human, taking care not to prod him with his small antlers. At least he was _understanding_ now.

“I promise, Fawnlock, I’ll be okay.” John tugged gently at his arm, pulling him into the bed, and held him tightly, pressing as close as he could through the sheets and blankets piled on top of him.

Fawnlock swallowed hard and let John shift him as he pleased, surprised by how warm he was. Why would he be covered in things that kept him warm if he were warm already? “Died, John. Man died,” he explained in a whisper, his furry ears flicking in agitation.

“Who?” John murmured back.

“Autumn time. Man died. You…” the deer touched John’s closed eyelid and passed across it to his temple, having no idea how to convey _symptom_.

John was suddenly petting his head, his hand not as firm as usual; Fawnlock looked up and only then noticed that the tears that were stinging behind his eyes a moment ago were running down his cheeks. “I’m not going to die, ‘Lock,” John said, very carefully wiping Fawnlock’s tears away. “I’m just a little sick.”

“Lit-tle sick,” Fawnlock repeated dutifully. “Not good?”

John smiled wanly. “Not right now. But I will be.” He coughed into his pillow, his shivers starting up again.

In the winter, when the cottage got especially cold and the windows would have to be covered in white foam to keep the draft out, John would take out his special tin full of chocolate powder and put some of it in boiling water, and then pour it into a green mug for Fawnlock and a blue mug for himself. It was very warm and always made John happy. “Cho-late,” Fawnlock said, nosing in John’s ear again before sliding out of bed and leaving the room.

Couldn’t be that hard, could it? Fawnlock filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove, rifling through the cupboards for the tin of chocolate. He couldn’t read the labels on any of the jars (mostly herbs from the smell) but the chocolate one was very distinctive—red metal, cold to the touch. Fawnlock handled it very carefully, setting it on the high counter and pulling the top off.

He also took down a mug. Another round of coughs from John’s room startled him into almost dropping it, but he placed it on the table and sat down next to it.

Perhaps the cure to whatever was Terribly Wrong was warmth, and that was why John was so bundled up. The human who had died only had a jacket on. Fawnlock folded his hands under his chin and frowned. It would be awful if John died. He would be so lonely.

The kettle boiled and Fawnlock poured the steaming water into the mug, adding two spoonfuls of powder as he’d seen so many times, and brought it very carefully in to John. When he got back to the bedroom (walking softly and carefully so not to spill), John was lying sprawled over his blankets instead of under them. _John, you’re sabotaging my attempts to make you Good again,_ Fawnlock wanted to say. Instead, he set the hot mug on the bedside table and pulled the blankets back up, murmuring, “No,” in the gently chastising way John sometimes used for him.

“’Lock, it’s too hot,” John complained half-heartedly, opening his bleary eyes to study the deer.

“No hot, John.” Fawnlock pressed the blankets firmly to John’s chest and turned around to pick up the chocolate, letting John free his arms to take the mug. “Better?” he asked hopefully as John took a sip.

“Much, much better, Fawnlock, thank you,” John said sincerely, a warm smile spreading across his face. “You made it perfectly.”

Fawnlock preened at the praise, climbing onto the end of the bed and curling up around John’s feet. “Wor-ried, John, lit-tle sick. Please good,” he said into his arm, the words muffled by his fur.

John set the chocolate down and sat up to pat Sherlock’s head, scratching just behind his right ear. “Hush, ‘Lock. Go to sleep. I’ll feel much better in the morning.” A loud crack of sound immediately followed his words and Fawnlock curled up tighter. “Do you remember what that is?”

He knew the word. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t think through his concern for John and his (irrational, he mentally berated himself) fear of storms. “Tun,” he said, pushing into John’s hand, which had stilled. “Tunner. Tun…?”

John smiled down at him. “Very close. Thunder. Thun-der.”

“Thun-der,” Fawnlock repeated proudly.

John coughed into his arm and lay back, pushing aside a section of his blankets in invitation. “Come on, darling. I won’t have you sleeping afraid.”

The deer crawled between the sheets beside him, curling up at his side and flinching at the next peal of thunder. Having John so close to him, even too warm and wrong-smelling, made his stomach flutter in that nervous way that usually preceded John’s kisses. He leaned up to press his lips to John’s as the feeling cued, but pouted when the human turned away.

“I don’t want you to get sick,” John murmured, pulling Fawnlock against his chest and tucking his head under his chin, careful of his antlers. “But I’ll give you a good night kiss tomorrow.”

The fluttery feeling intensified and Fawnlock cuddled closer, almost able to ignore the loud pattering of rain and cracks of thunder. He felt safe in John’s arms, and… something more…

“How say?” he asked quietly, pressing his palm to John’s heart.

“Heartbeat?” John responded in confusion. “Chest?”

“No.” Fawnlock touched his chest right over his own fast-beating heart for a moment, leaning back a bit so John could see him, and then repeated his first action, feeling John’s heart quicken under his hand. “How say… me and John? Me and John…”

The human stroked the back of his neck, chucking softly despite his hoarse throat. “Love? Is that the word?”

“Love.” The word even _felt_ right in his mouth. “Looove John.”

John kissed his forehead. “Love you too, Fawnlock.”

“Better soon. No lit-tle sick.”

“That an order, is it?” John teased. “Of course, dearest. Sleep now.”

Fawnlock slept peacefully at John's side.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by How Say by Metronomy (#1 band)
> 
> it's an instrumental song so there are no... lyric parallels or anything


End file.
